


Paw-dcast

by zombie_socks



Series: E-Love [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Shelter, Blogging, Dogs, Podcasting, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: Natasha works in Steve Roger's coffee shop, the Red White and Brew, and loves to listen to Dog Days, a podcast put on by a local animal shelter, narrated by Hawkeye, a mysterious man with a lovely voice.Clint works for SHIELD, an animal shelter, and does a podcast inspired partially by a blog he found by someone called CoffeeCat, a cat owner who works in a coffee shop.Hawkeye and CoffeCat have met. But they don't really know it...
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Kate Bishop/America Chavez, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: E-Love [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/633452
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this sweet Valentine's Day treat!

"Steve, what the hell are we listening to?" Nat demanded, carrying a tray of muffins to put in the display case.

“Don't know," he admitted, "it's Bucky's day to pick the music." Steve downed some coffee and went back to counting the café’s drawer for the day’s opening.

Nat picked up Bucky's phone and tapped the screen to see the album's cover art: a woman in red standing over a man decked out in red and green with a yellow cape. The band's name and song title were in Romanian – The Intranet at Large by Wanda's Vision. A quick scroll through the album’s other titles gave Nat a firm idea of the kind of Eastern European, experimental, EDM nonsense she was in for. Why did Bucky Barnes have the worst taste in music?

“Tell him to pick something that _won’t_ make the customers’ ears bleed.”

“He said it was just until opening and that the driving beat helps him knead dough for the _sdobnoye drozhzhevoye testo_.”

Nat rolled her eyes but put the phone back down. “If Bucky’s really looking for something from the Old Country, tell him to try-”

“Tell him yourself. I’m trying to count.” He paused, looking at the bills in his hands, frowned, gathered them all up, and began counting again. 

Nat took the hint to leave, gathering up her empty muffin tray and heading to the back for more baked goods to fill the case. It was twenty minutes until open and the tables still needed to be wiped down and the coffee machines started. It never ceased to amaze her, the din of repetitive mornings.

Bucky slapped dough onto the marble surface of the work table in the back room. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck from standing so close to the oven and working through the day’s worth of dough all with one hand. But it was his job, his art. He’d taken up baking after the accident and it had been his therapy. Now it was his livelihood.

He enjoyed it the same way Steve enjoyed making designs in latte foam or Nat arranging the baked goods in the case. They were consumable bits of art. And maybe his was more central to the café’s function, but anyone of them could gas dough. It was his way of giving back, he supposed, to the man that saved his life. Steve had offered him a job when no one else would.

“Hey,” Nat started, picking a pinch of cinnamon sugar dough from the rolls he was preparing, “Eurotrash nation wants it’s music back.”

He told her to fuck off in Russian making her pout mockingly and steal some more dough.

“<Don’t worry,>” he continued in their native tongue, “<we’ll switch to your boyfriend once we’re open.>”

Nat frowned. “<For the last time, I like the podcast because of the unique narrative structure and humorous tone, not because of- >”

“<You like Hawkeye’s hot voice, _mladshaya sestra_. The sooner you admit it- Hey!>”

Nat socked him in the arm before continuing to load up her tray with some cookies, sticky buns, and an arranged basket of bagels to go out next.

“<You ever think about looking him up, maybe checking out the shelter he volunteers for?>” 

She hummed, thinking it over. She answered in English as she backed out the door with her tray, “Smart money’s on him already being taken.”

“Never know until you find out for sure.”

She shrugged at Bucky then left to fill the display case. As she went back for the bagel basket, Steve popped his head up from the dimes on the counter to remind her about Thor needing Tuesday off to get his visa renewed. “I’d just need you to cover the first half of his shift.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I mean it this time. I’ll take the second half, but I’ve got that art opening at Melinda May’s new gallery and I need to drop off the pieces and-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

Steve grinned. “I owe you dinner.”

“You’re up to seven.”

“He’s making you work Tuesday, isn’t he?” Bucky guessed, coming in from the back, wiping his hands on a towel and dusting flour out of his hair. He kissed Steve’s cheek and went to start wiping down the tables. Nat started the coffee machines, answering, “Only half. And he says he owes me dinner.”

“You owe her a nine course banquet and four desserts,” Bucky jabbed back, flashing a grin at Nat. “<At least I make sure you get breakfast.>”

“<You’re a good friend, Barnes.>”

“Okay, okay,” Steve interrupted. “I know when I’m being talked about in Russian.” He closed the register and went to help Bucky with the tables. “I do owe you, Nat, and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Nat smiled and waved him off. “Rogers, if I held you to that promise, I’d have had to leave your café years ago.” She pointed to the speakers in the corner of the café’s ceiling. “Now, can we please silence this nonsense?”

Bucky sighed but nodded.

Nat pulled out her phone and tapped around a moment before switching out Bucky’s with hers on the aux cord. The pounding electronica was replaced with a snappy intro theme underneath a pleasant baritone male voice that opened, “Tracks, snacks, and jumping jacks. What do all those things have in common? Well they all happened this week with my foster dog, Nelson. You’ll hear all about him and our adventures on this week’s episode of Dog Days.” The music swelled a moment before being replaced by another voice, this one female, rattling on about sponsors. 

“Thanks, Katie. Welcome, listeners, to Dog Days – the show where I talk about the fun and FUBARs of pet ownership. I’m Hawkeye, and the voice of the business end of things is the other Hawkeye, Kate.”

“Last week I was the voice of reason,” Kate chimed in.

“And you still are,” Hawkeye answered, a smile evident in his tone. “Which brings us to Nelson, a dachshund mix, two years old, that I got to hang out with for the week as part of SHIELD’s foster pet program.”

“For those of you who don’t know,” Kate interrupted, “SHIELD is a local shelter in Brooklyn who have an embarrassing acronym and have finally started taking the hint to just stick to SHIELD.”

“What? You don’t like Shelters and Humane Interiors Exclusively for Loving Dogs? You know they made it up after calling it SHIELD.”

Kate huffed, and Nat couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. They were so personable, so real.

“Anyway, Nelson. That little dude is a lot of dog in not a lot of body. You like a pet with personality, he’s the one for you. So day one, I start off with…”

Nat let Hawkeye’s voice fade into the background as she turned on the open sign. It wasn’t long before customer’s started filing in, packing laptops and briefcases. The morning rush mostly got their orders to go, but some stayed.

They left the podcast on until the end of the episode, switching over to the standard acoustic mix after.

It wasn’t that Nat minded the guitar strumming or the soft vocals, it just wasn’t as interesting as the anecdotes from the Dog Days podcast. And, okay, maybe Bucky was right. She did like Hawkeye’s voice. Not just because it was precisely the right mix of gruff and pleasant, but it was deep and rich and held so much _story_ in it. He made a whole week of snafus and tender moments with these dogs sound like a conversation with your best friend. And since doing the podcast, SHIELD’s adoption rate had gone up significantly. So what wasn’t to love?

The bell rang over the door and Nat grinned at the regular who shuffled in, still half asleep, hair disheveled and T-shirt rumpled. He smiled gently at her and signed hello. She signed back and then fetched Steve.

As a child, Steve had been sick so often and so severely that it left some permanent damage. His asthma was wicked, his eyesight beyond poor, and his left ear hadn’t heard sound since before the infection it got when he was twelve. So he’d studied some ASL to help with communication – a point, Clint Barton, a café regular for that reason, greatly appreciated. Nat didn’t know how he lost his hearing or if maybe he was born without it. She didn’t know much about Clint in general. But what she did know was that he was, hands down, the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Sure, Bucky had all the muscles and man-bun look of a Canadian lumberjack washing his flannels in crystal clear streams. And Steve was the sensitive artist-type half covered in paint with delightful stickers on every water bottle and laptop he owned. Sam Wilson, a part-time employee who worked close with Thor, was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, as well as sweeter than sugar. And Thor, well, Scandinavian Viking god aesthetic to a T, complete with washboard abs and shoulders as wide as a house.

But Clint Barton was… an adorable mess. His dirty-blonde hair stuck up at random angles, complementing the day’s scruff on his square jaw. His arms were the perfect bulk of a man that used them daily, staying in shape through manual labor – although what exactly she wasn’t sure. He had broad shoulders, a well defined chest, and she’d seen his six-pack on days when his soft cotton t-shirt was replaced with workout gear. He had great hands, all rough and calloused, veins visible and running up his arms. His smile was often lopsided and his laugh, whenever Steve got him to laugh, was rich and open, like a storybook sky.

But it was his eyes. Oh, god, his eyes. Prairie storm cloud blue-grey, the kind heavy with rain. The green flecks in them surprised her when she’d first seen them, little leaves lit by the sun in front of those storm clouds. His eyelashes were a shade darker than his hair, framing his eyes perfectly with a natural contrast. They were bright and intelligent, big and blue; she could stare at them all day.

And oh, Bucky and Steve knew it.

If the teasing about Hawkeye’s voice was bad, the ribbing she got about openly staring at Clint was ten times worst. He’d always flash her a smile as he left, coffee in hand, pastry in a small white bag that she’d handed to him. He’d sign his thanks and she’d learned enough from Steve to respond. She’d watch his nice ass as he left and only feel a little bad about it.

“I’m telling you, Nat,” Steve started, wiping down the counter and waiting for the next rush to start. “I could teach you some more ASL, you could ask him out. Or I could ask him for you, go on the date as a translator.”

“No offense, Steve, but I don’t think I could relax with you there. I know your agenda too well.”

“Which agenda is that? The one to your lifelong happiness or to get you laid? Because either way it starts with a date with Mr. Blue-eyed Barton.” 

Nat glared at him, signaling him to move on. Steve sighed in resignation and went back to cleaning. Nat slipped back into the kitchen to get some more muffins for the case.

“<Your boyfriend is as bad a matchmaker as you,>” she complained to Bucky.

The man chuckled. “<He try to set you up with Barton again?>” He dropped some dough onto the tray, shaping it for cookies. “<You can hardly blame him, what with how you ogle.>”

“I don’t ogle!” she insisted, switching to English. “I… appreciate.”

Bucky scoffed. “You pine.” He set down his dough and turned to face her. “<Natasha, look. I know the whole dating thing hasn’t been a walk in the park for you. But you’re beyond it now, and it’s time to put Alexi and Ivan behind you. Move on and find some happiness.>” He stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder. “<Because you deserve it.>”

“<And if I find out he’s married like Alexi, or using me to get to my best friend like Ivan and Yelena?>”

Bucky smiled lightly and went back to scooping out dough. “Well then, it’s a good thing you have Steve and me for support.>”

She frowned, not liking the pragmatism of the answer nor the memories the conversation had dredged up. She finished filling her tray and left the kitchen and the past it reminded her of.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint Barton set down his empty coffee cup on the counter along with his keys. The excited clacking of doggy nails on tile greeted him as Nelson rushed over to welcome him back. Clint laughed and stooped down to pet and play with the dog.

“Hey boy, you ready to meet your new owners?”

After the latest podcast went out, SHIELD had gotten three calls about adopting Nelson. Phil, the manager of SHIELD, had screened two of the three families and found they weren’t quite the right fit. They’d each gone home with a different dog, but Nelson was still hanging around and today was the day he met family number three – a middle age couple of empty nesters looking to fill that nurture place in their lives. Clint had a good feeling about them, and while letting Nelson go was going to be tough – it always was with each dog he fostered for the week – finding the dog a family was undoubtedly fulfilling.

Clint stood up and grabbed the leash by the door, his lunch from the fridge, and his keys from the counter. “Let’s go, boy,” he encouraged as he clipped the dog’s collar to the leash. He looked back at his apartment, scanning for anything he missed. There was a new message on the answering machine, so he clicked the button and was greeted by Kate’s happy voice filling him in on her latest adventure in Costa Rica. She’d left for her vacation with her girlfriend only three days ago and he already missed her.

He knew he really should call her back, talk to her instead of just texting and communicating via voicemail, but it could wait until he got back from his part-time shift at SHIELD.

It was a three-block walk from his apartment building to the shelter. Clint always enjoyed the trip, getting the dog some exercise and giving himself some time to just exist. The neighborhood was quiet and generally calm, a complete contrast to his other part-time job as a morning air mail agent: a fancy name for guy who sorts and loads boxes for corporate air mail delivery. There was nothing quiet and calm about jets and parcels.

Which was why when Phil offered a part-time job at SHIELD, Clint took it immediately. Sure it meant missing his 11 AM nap, but the extra money was nice and the dogs were great to be around.

“Hey there, Nelson,” Darcy cooed as Clint entered the door with the dog ahead of him. She knelt down and pet the excited little dog.

“No hello for me?” Clint asked, unclipping the leash.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Sorry, greetings are for employees who arrive on time or bribe me with-”

She was cut off by Clint pulling out a white bag from his lunch box. Darcy grinned and grabbed the bag, opening it up to reveal a cheese Danish from their favorite coffee stop: Red, White, and Brew.

“Hello, Clint,” she greeted before taking a bite of the pastry.

“Enjoy that,” he tossed over his shoulder as he swung behind the reception counter to log in to the computer and clock in. “It cost me emotional turmoil.”

“Is this about the pretty redhead who pawns you off to Steve all the time because your lazy ass doesn’t put in your hearing aids?”

“Hey, that airport is loud, you know, overwhelming. If I can catch a break between it and this job, I’ll take it.”

“Even at the expense of flirting with the woman you’ve been pining after for months?” Darcy picked up Nelson to take him back to the small yard where they let the dogs run. “Would five minutes really kill your ears?”

Clint frowned, finished clocking in, and put on his polo shirt he kept on a hook behind the reception desk. One sniff told him he needed to take it home for a wash. “Okay,  _ maybe _ it’s not all about the hearing aids.”

“Mmmhmm,” Darcy agreed before leaving with Nelson.

Clint followed, continuing his defense. “I mean, she’s just so… God, Darcy there’s no way she’d go for me.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Let’s see, wrong side of forty, divorced, two jobs, not to mention that weird thing with the podcast.”

Darcy let Nelson go to play with the other dogs. They let them out in groups of sociability so that more playful dogs didn’t scare the nervous ones and instigate fights. “You think the podcast is weird?”

“No! Not,  _ weird _ weird. Just maybe not first date material.”

Darcy faced him, brows drawn in confusion. “You help abandoned dogs get adopted by telling fun stories about them. How could a woman not fall for that? It’s the ‘I got a dog to pick up chicks’ troupe on acid.”

Clint rubbed at the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d never shaken from his teen years. “But that’s kinda why. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m in it for the fame and fortune kind of thing.”

Darcy snorted. “Fame.”

Folding his arms Clint defended, “Yeah. Fame. I get fan emails and stuff. Comments on the podcast forum. Even one marriage proposal. Granted that was from Wade Wilson-”

“The taco shack sponsor?”

“It’s a food truck. But yeah.”

Darcy just shook her head and picked up a tennis ball, gathering attention from the four-legged crowd. “Clint, you use a fake name on the podcast so I doubt anyone is going to assume you’re in it for the fame and fortune.” She handed the ball to Clint. “Besides, you have to actually date someone first before they can accuse you of using your ‘sophisticated status’ for personal gain.”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you.”

Darcy smiled innocently. “Nelson’s potential family will be here in an hour.” She left and Clint waited until she closed the door for the building before lobbing the ball, sending almost a dozen dogs darting after it. 

…

Clint’s lunch break was usually around three in the afternoon and was more of a dinner than lunch because his schedule was so messed up. Breakfast was typically in two parts: one before he left for the airport at four AM, one on his scheduled break there. Lunch was caught between the two jobs, and dinner/ second lunch was during his break at the shelter. He typically had a snack after he got home around five thirty, and was in bed by nine, ten at the latest.

No wonder he hadn’t been on a date.

His lunch break was also the time Clint took to jot down notes for the podcast he’d record that weekend with Kate, if she wasn’t in Costa Rica that is. 

After Nelson got adopted on Tuesday, Clint took in Star – a terrier mix with a lopsided star pattern on her forehead. She was a nervous little thing, and he’d probably have her for longer than Nelson to get her more acclimated to people.

That was another benefit of his two-job schedule. The dogs he fostered were only left alone in the quiet hours of the morning and he was usually back in time to take them out to get exercise and do their business. It was good training for the dogs without it being too strenuous. And Clint enjoyed it. He liked the job and the other pieces Phil had tacked on. It’d been good for him after the divorce, after Bobbi left.

Star was curled up on Clint’s lap, finally settling down after a few minutes of shaking. Clint was scrolling on his phone with one hand and petting her with the other. A push notification came in alerting him to some update or other. He let it sit for a moment, finishing the level of FloppyHerd he was on. The game was dumb; the object to get all the cows standing again after some animated prankster tipped them all over was trite. But the boneless cows refused to stay up and usually Clint had them lean against each other – double tapping furiously on their knees to temporarily lock them in place. It was an addicting game and he hated himself for liking it so much. Darcy had laughed at him but was on level nine after only a week. Kate was the absolute master of the game. And after a few attempts to get into it Phil passed level one and let it sit, presumably never to be opened again.

His last cow fell and he exited out of the game, shaking his head at how ridiculous it was. But that’s when he noticed the push notification. 

If it weren’t for the dog still sleeping in his lap he’d have cheered at the top of his lungs.

She’d updated.

CoffeeCat had a new blog post out and he was  _ pumped _ !

…

“What’s got you so happy,” Darcy inquired off of Clint’s shit-eating grin.

“My girl posted.” He slipped around her to clock back in from lunch.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Scott Lang mentioned. Scott was a new part-time employee who joined for the convenient hours before his electrical engineering night classes at the local community college. 

“She’s not  _ actually _ his girlfriend,” Darcy corrected. “Just some blogger he’s been obsessed with for like a million years.”

“Two, if that,” Clint defended, picking up some leftover paperwork from a drop-off they’d gotten in that morning. He uncapped a pen only to find it dried out. He tossed it away.

“What does she blog?” Scott asked, handing Clint the pen from the top of the desk that people used to sign in.

“It’s a personal/niche blog about coffee and cats and her life in general. I know it sounds boring, but I found it when I was researching how to do the podcast and fell in love with her style. Most of the narrative beats are inspired from her posts.” He signed a form before adding, “She’s just got such a great voice, you know. A presence. It’s like I’m sitting there having a cup of coffee with her, laughing at her stories.”

“Is she hot?” 

“Really, Scott?” Darcy chastised.

“What? She sounds smart and interesting. If she’s hot it’s the whole package.” He pointed to his head. “I like brains.”

Darcy scoffed. “So do zombies.”

“I’ve, uh, never seen a photo of her,” Clint interjected. “But I do know she’s a woman. The pronouns and stuff in her bio.

Scott put up his hands. “No judgment if she weren’t.” He picked up the hand broom and dustpan from behind the reception desk. “Off to do some cleaning. You know,” he tossed to Darcy, “a gender-neutral job.”

She rolled her eyes.

But before he could skip off, the bell above the door sounded, announcing the entrance of one Phil Coulson.

Phil was the manager of SHIELD, a co-owner with his long-time best friend Nick Fury, and the best boss Clint had ever worked for. He was kind, yet directorial, always willing to work around the employees’ various schedules, and made homemade dog-safe treats for the animals they cared for.

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked, leaning a hip against the desk. “Shouldn’t you be spending your day off with you kid? Helping him with homework or playing T-ball or something?”

“Fitz is fifteen,” Phil clarified. “And smarter than everyone here.” 

“ _ Pfft _ . You trying to tell me Fitz isn’t eight and still learning to ride a bike?” Clint continued.

“No, in fact, he’s asked if I can drive him to the movies for a date.”

“Aww,” Darcy cooed. “That’s so cute. A date!”

“Yeah.” Phil shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m trying to not freak out about it. Not that I don’t trust my son, I do. It’s just… he’s growing up so fast and it’s  _ dating _ .”

Darcy waved him off. “He’s a good kid, a smart kid. I’m sure whoever he’s seeing the movie with is nice.”

“Her name is Jemma. They met at the science fair.”

“Cute,” Scott commented. He’d talked before about his own daughter and agreed to the sentiment of them growing up too quickly.

Clint shook his head. “Science fair. Far cry from what I was doing at fifteen.”

“And what was that, Barton? Darcy probed.

He shrugged. “Begging my older brother to fake me an ID to ride a motorcycle I’d won in a poker game.”

Darcy didn’t look convinced. “No, really?” 

“Yes, really. I was determined to take it out to California.”

Darcy hummed. “No. Can’t see you as the rough and rebel type.”

“Seriously? I faked my age to join the army.”

Phil raised a brow.

“They didn’t catch me,” Clint reassured him, although Phil did not look reassured. 

Darcy stared at Clint, challenge in her eyes. “If you’re really some badass daredevil, ask out the red head.”

Scott piped in, “The one at the coffee shop? ‘Cause, nice.” He flashed a low thumbs up.

“Tell me about it,” Clint agreed.

Darcy sighed deeply. “Pigs, the both of you.” 

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, leveling Darcy with a glare. “Oh like you don’t stare at the menu pretending to debate your order so you can ogle Thor longer.”

“If you must know I was shopping around for Jane.” Darcy tapped her fingers on the counter of the reception desk. “Sam on the other hand…”

“Okay then, harassment seminars all around.” Phil announced. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab my spare phone cable from my office so I can pretend I’m a cool dad by nonchalantly sitting in my car playing FloppyHerd instead of getting a ticket and sitting two rows back from my kid on his date.”

“Atta boy, Phil,” Clint encouraged.

He ducked into the office and grabbed his cable. On his way out he remembered, “Oh, I wanted to tell you. Mel is having a party for her new gallery opening Saturday night and she’s invited all of you to come.”

“Fun!” Darcy exclaimed. “And a chance to go shopping.” She fist pumped the air before adding, “I’m a definite yes.”

Scott shrugged. “Sounds like the perfect thing to ask this girl I’m kinda seeing to.” 

Phil nodded, taking that as a yes. “Clint?”

Clint looked down at his feet, trying desperately not to shift on them. “I don’t know, Phil. Saturdays are when I record the podcast and with Kate out of town for the next few weeks I’m left doing all the pre stuff too. Interviews and sound bite gathering and-”

“Ah, c’mon, Barton. What would your rebellious, motorcycle teen past self do?” Darcy goaded. 

Clint glared at her. “Rebellious motorcycle me crashed that bike in the middle of bum-fuck Kansas, ruining what could’ve been an Olympic-level archery career, so I don’t really listen to him.” He turned to Phil. “Sorry, man. But I just don’t have time to make it.”

“What if you had someone to help you, like a second set of hands?” Scott asked before slipping on a sly grin. “A savvy, sexy assistant.”

“Yeah yeah, redhead at the coffee shop. Though I doubt she’d ever be interested.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Darcy began, tapping a finger to her chin. “The second set of hands thing.”

“You can’t possibly be for this,” Clint sputtered in disbelief.

“Not the poor objectified barista. But what about CoffeeCat?”

Clint scoffed. “Darcy, there’s no way she’d…” He paused. “Actually that’s not a terrible idea.”

Phil added, “What if I gave you Friday off to prepare some and you invite her to the gallery opening as a chance to talk about it. It’s a public event, lots of people around so she’d feel safe meeting a stranger there. Not to mention free cheese and wine for schmoozing.”

Clint sighed, relenting. “Fine. But only if she says yes.”

Darcy cheered with an enthusiastic Yes!”

Phil more subtlety concluded, “Great. I’ll let Mel know you’re all confirmed yeses.” He took a step towards the door before tossing over his shoulder to Clint, “Wear the charcoal shirt. And for the love of God, don’t forget to iron it.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha was going to  _ murder _ Steve. Only work half of Thor’s Tuesday shift her ass. She should’ve known she’d end up working the whole damn thing  _ on top _ of already pulling her own opening shift  _ and _ having to deal with some asshole flirting with her while on the clock – fuck you, Brock Rumlow, and your stupid nightclub –  _ and _ taking care of not one, but  _ two _ coffee spills.

She was so done.

Kicking off her shoes and snagging a take-out menu from her fridge, Natasha resigned herself to an evening devoid of people and interaction. Which is why when less than a minute after placing an order for Chicken Paprikash from Maximoff’s – the owner’s son, Pietro, was the fastest delivery guy she knew but not  _ that _ fast – she was a little caught off guard and very annoyed.

She peeked out her peep-hole and almost audibly sighed when she saw Steve standing there.

“C’mon, Nat. Open up. I’m really sorry.”

She opened the door but frowned deeply at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m mad at you and I reserve the right to be so for the next twenty-four hours.”

Steve hung his head. “Yeah, I know. But I come bearing gifts.” He held up a shoebox that had been wrapped in colorful paper and stuffed full of her favorites. “Wine, that basically cocoa beans dark chocolate stuff you like, some Moroccan oil and rose bath bombs, and some  _ sdobnoye drozhzhevoye testo _ courtesy of Bucky.”

“Someone’s been stalking my CongoPrima wish list.”

Steve gave a small grin before pulling something out from behind the bag of bath bombs. “Maybe.” He handed it to Natasha whose jaw was having a difficult time staying off the floor.

“Is this really-?”

“A limited edition DVD release of the  _ Dog Cops  _ and  _ Paw and Order  _ crossover event signed by the voice actress for DA Whiskers. Yes, yes it is.” 

Nat wrapped her arms around Steve and hugged him as tightly as the box in his arms would allow. “Okay, I forgive you. But on one condition.”

“We have to watch it together right now?” Steve guessed.

“Mmmhmm.” 

…

The episode was only an hour and a half, but Steve fell asleep around the twenty-minute mark after Pietro dropped off Nat’s food. She’d offered some to Steve, but he claimed food allergies and then promptly zonked out.

Nat figured he’s had a long day, opening the shop on top of getting his exhibit together and dropped off. Bucky had mentioned something about Steve having a small panic attack the night before. So she let him sleep.

After the show, and with Steve still on her couch, Natasha decided to wash up some dishes before opening her laptop with the intention of paying some bills.

But the pop-up notification in the corner changed that. 

_@DogDaysHawkeye_ _commented on your blog post._

“No fucking way,” she murmured, quickly opening her blog and scrolling past the numerous spam comments and trolls to arrive at what she desperately hoped wasn’t some fan or fake account. 

_ Hey, _ it read,  _ I run a podcast for a local animal shelter and was wondering if you’d want to guest star in a few episodes. It’s pretty informal, relaxed. Here’s a link to my stuff if you want to verify I’m not some scam-bot. DM me if you want to talk some more. Thanks!  _

She clicked the link just to double check and sure enough an episode list as familiar to her as any of Bucky’s recipes appeared. “No fucking way,” she repeated, the words breathy with disbelief. “No way. No fucking way!” 

A noise from behind her told her Steve had been startled awake by her shout of joy. And now that he was up, Natasha couldn’t contain the good news. 

“Steve, Stevie, oh my God, Steve! He commented. He wants me to be on his show!” 

“Who?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Hawkeye. The Dog Days podcast guy.” 

“I know who-” he sighed and sat up straighter. “Hawkeye wants you to do the show? How did he-”

“He found my blog. 

“You have a blog?” 

“Yeah. It’s nothing big, mostly a place to vent about the coffee shop and this cat that I’ve been taking care of on and off for a few years. She comes and goes and sometimes I give her milk.” 

“You have a cat?” 

“No. I take care of a cat. Keep up, Rogers.” 

He put his hands up in casual defense. “So are you gonna do it? The show?” 

Nat hesitated, fiddling with the corner of a bill envelope on her table. “I don’t know.” 

“Ah, c’mon, ‘Tasha. You love this guy. You’d get to do the show you enjoy with him.” He raised his brows mischievously. “I bet he’s cute too.” 

Nat rolled her eyes but didn’t make a move to answer yes or no to the message. 

Steve sighed and came over to her, placing his hand gently over hers. “What’s scaring you?” 

“I’m not-” 

He cut her off with a dubious look. “Nat, I know you, even though you like to think I don’t and that you’re some deep, dark mystery, which you can be,” he added off her perfectly raised brow. “My point is, you’re worried about meeting this guy. Is it because you think you’ll really like him and it’ll end up like Alexi or Ivan?” 

“I… a little. Maybe. I know I shouldn’t still be hung up on that. It’s just…”

“It’s just you go hurt. And you don’t want to get hurt again. Right?” 

She nodded. 

He moved closer, putting his arm around her shoulders in a side hug. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But it’s okay to be nervous about getting back out there.” 

She felt herself smiling at Steve’s gentle comfort. “Thanks, Steve.” She settled into the hug a little. “This doesn’t make us even, you know.” 

He chuckled. “I know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if Dog Cops wasn't going to make an appearance. Pfft. Clearly you don't know me. :)


	4. Chapter 4

The ‘yes’ from CoffeeCat had pumped so much adrenaline into Clint’s veins he didn’t even stop for coffee after his shift at the airport - much to Darcy’s dismay as it also resulted in a lack of baked goods. But her pointed glares and apparent sulking were doing nothing to dampen his mood. CoffeeCat was going to the podcast,  _ his _ podcast. And after agreeing to meet, she technically, was his date for some art show Friday night. 

_ That’s tomorrow night, _ he pieced together, mentally going through his closet.  _ Aww, nice clothes, no. _

“Darc,” he started, approaching her at the front desk, hands in pockets, as pathetic a face he could manage displayed. “How mad would you be if I asked off to go shopping?” 

She raised a brow. “Shopping?” 

“For clothes. You know, nice ones. For my date tomorrow. Not that it’s a  _ date _ date. Just- What are you doing?” 

Darcy held up a finger to silence him as she finished dialing her phone. “Yeah, Phil, Clint’s a useless dork who needs a fashion overhaul for tomorrow night. I’m leaving Scott in charge. Yes, I’ll be sure to put him in the gray shirt. Charcoal, yes. Okay. Bye, Phil.” 

“What’s that-”

“Scott, you’re in charge of the place,” she bellowed down the hall where Scott was working in the back. “I have to go fix Clint.” 

“Hey!” 

“In that case, will you be back before closing?” came Scott’s yelled reply. 

Darcy hummed, debating to leave him the key. She shook her head, deciding against it since Scott wasn’t  _ technically _ allowed to lock up on his own, conditions of his parole. “I’ll be back by then. I don’t think he’s  _ that _ much of a disaster.” 

“Again. Hey!” 

“Okay. See ya later. Good luck, Clint!” 

“Bye, Scott.” But he wasn’t sure if the other man heard it since Darcy was already shoving him out the door. 

…

The party for the art exhibit opening was, well, Clint could really only come up with the word ‘swanky.’ Wine was available in real glasses, cheese trays with names he’d never even heard of were passed around by waitstaff. There was an honest to God ice sculpture in the corner and it was keeping what looked like shrimp cold. 

“I see Darcy took my advice,” Phil commented as he approached. 

Clint spun around, wine glass not entirely leaving his mouth. He swallowed as he nodded. “Yeah, gray. Good choice.” 

Phil grinned but his eyes narrowed as they discovered the somewhat garish purple tie Clint had picked out. So sue him; he liked purple. 

“Maybe you should lose the tie.” 

Clint pointed to it with his empty wine glass. “If you must know, I told my date I’d be in a purple tie and didn’t want her to miss it.” 

“Is she coming in from outer spacet,” Phil replied, but there was a smile behind it. “You seen Melinda?” 

Clint pointed to the back corner where the woman in question was chatting with… was that Steve from Red, White, and Brew? Huh? 

Phil left and Clint took a moment to scope out the party, checking to see if anyone looked like they were searching for purple ties. Coming up negative, he shuffled his way over to the shrimp ice sculpture, accepting an offered glass of pink shrimp and cocktail sauce. Damn, this stuff was good.  _ Maybe I need to attend more swanky parties. They have such good- ah futz. _ Clint looked down at the glob of cocktail sauce on his tie. It slid down the purple fabric, leaving an obvious trail in its wake. 

_ It’s okay. Restroom. Get to a restroom and clean it off. _

He found one near the back corner where Phil had located Melinda, and hey, yeah, that  _ was  _ Steve from the coffee place, and all but attacked the sink trying to get some paper towels and soap into the situation. He scrubbed at the sauce, soap only making the stain worse. He threw away the spent towels and looked in the mirror.  _ Okay, this is bad _ . 

The tie was toast. 

His options stood annoyingly plainly before him. Either meet CoffeeCat with a ruined purple tie, or ditch the tie and just pray she found him on her own. 

“Door number two,” he sighed, taking off the tie and rolling it up to fit in his pocket. He undid the top two buttons of his shirt, hoping her could pull off the cool guy look.  _ Who are you kidding _ ?  _ You’ve never been cool in your entire life. _

He shuffled from the bathroom, trying not to look as worried as he felt. Maybe someone else had a purple tie he could borrow. 

He grabbed another glass of wine, figuring what was another spill at this juncture and scanned the crowd again looking for anyone that seemed to be searching for him. What he spotted instead was Pretty Coffeeshop Redhead staring at one of the paintings, dressed to the nines in an emerald green cocktail dress that hugged all the right places. 

_ Wow! Look at- Uh, she’s probably here because of Steve. Should I say hi? Should I leave her alone? Would she recognize me if- _

Pretty Coffeeshop Redhead turned around, spotted him. She smiled and waved, and he felt his heart skip a beat. 

_ Damn _ . “Uh, hi,” he greeted coming over the few steps to join her at the painting. 

“ _ Hi,” _ she signed. 

“Oh,” he pointed to his ears. “I have them in. You can talk.” 

“Oh.” She seemed really caught off guard about that. He wondered if she really even wanted to talk to him or if she was just being polite in waving to him. But she followed it with a pleasant smile and a sip of wine, the color matching her lipstick. “At last a voice to the mysterious regular.” 

“Mysterious?” 

“Mysterious to me,” she amended, and damn was that not just the sexiest thing he’d ever encountered. 

_ Down boy _ . “So um,” he pointed to the painting before them. “This is… nice…” 

“It’s Impressionist. Stand back a bit for the full effect.” 

He did as suggested, suddenly seeing the Brooklyn Bridge at dawn as viewed from below. “Huh. Cool. You know a lot about art.” 

She smirked. “I know the artist.” 

“It’s Steve, right?” 

She nodded, sipping more wine. Were her cheeks a bit flushed or was he imagining it? Probably just her makeup. God, where was Kate when he needed these kinds of questions answered. 

“Are you here for an artist too? Not that you couldn’t be an artist yourself. I just-”

He waved her off with a broad grin. “An artist I am not. I’m friends with Phil who knows the owner.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, thankful it wasn’t too sweaty. But, good lord, she looked good in that dress. And he was talking to her, physically having a conversation with her, with Pretty Coffeeshop Redhead- Wow, he really needed to get her name.

“I’m Clint, by the way.” 

“I know. I swiped your credit card every Monday through Friday,” she replied with a sly smile. “Natasha,” she offered up with her free hand. He took it, shaking her hand and treasuring how it felt. 

_ Get a grip. _ He really did need Kate here. “So, did you come to this with Steve?”

Natasha shook her head. “No, actually I’m meeting someone here.” 

“Me too. I’m also meeting someone.”  _ Yeah, that didn’t sound lame or anything. _ “She, uh, might not recognize me. I’m supposed to be wearing... you know what, never mind.”  _ Pretty Coffeeshop Redhead  _ Natasha _ does not need to know you slobbed cocktail sauce all over your tie. Or that you do a podcast. Or that you are meeting a stranger from the Internet here to talk about said podcast.  _

Natasha eyed him curiously. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” 

“Uh, sure.” 

“It’s kind of odd.” 

“Okay…” 

“Can you say ‘dog’ for me?” 

He raised a brow. “Dog?” 

She pressed her lips together in an inaudible hum. Her finger tapped her wine glass as her thoughts seemed to process. “You’re supposed to be wearing a purple tie, aren’t you?” she stated after a moment. 

“I… yeah. How did you...?”  _ No! It can’t be _ . “CoffeeCat?” 

She smiled, something wider and more genuine feeling that her previous small grins. “Hi, Hawkeye.”

“How?!” 

“I listen to your podcast every morning at the coffeeshop-”

“You do?”

“-I recognized your voice.” She glanced at her wine, a rather coquettish flicker of eyelashes. “I had no idea it belonged to you.” 

“Huh. Well, uh,” he rubbed at his neck again. “I guess, do you want to do the show?”

“I’d love to, Hawkeye.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Epilogue**

Natasha looked at the clock on the wall of the coffee shop and turned to flip the switch to brew a fresh batch of their house blend. She went about making a ham and cheese bagel and slipped it in a paper bag along with a muffin. He was late, he’d need the bribe. 

The bell rang over the door and she saw the tawny mutt first. 

“Good morning, Lucky,” she cooed to the dog before pouring the fresh coffee into a to-go cup. 

“What about me?” Lucky’s owner asked. 

Nat turned back around, pretend pensive look on her face. “You might have to earn it.” She leaned across the counter. Clint grinned and met her, kissing her with a smile. 

“Earned?” 

“Good morning, Hawkeye.” 

He pumped a fist in the air, causing Lucky to jump up a little, still not quite broken of his bad habits. But Clint was working with him, and Natasha heavily suspected he’d end up with the dog on a more permanent basis before this was over. He really liked that mutt. And with SHIELD doing well enough to hire him full-time - thanks to their growing podcast audience - he could finally adopt a dog for himself. 

“Still good to go over show notes with Kate tonight?” he asked as she handed him his breakfast and Darcy’s treat. 

“It’s a date,” she answered, small smile on her face. 

He leaned in to steal another kiss and she couldn’t resist. 

“Bye, babe,” he called as he and Lucky left. 

She waved, trying to not sigh contentedly since Steve was standing next to her, annoying huge grin on his face. “Things seem to be going well there,” he commented. 

“The podcast has really taken off since I became a regular. Something about diversity of voices looping a wider audience. I don’t know the specifics. But SHIELD now services the tri-state area.” 

“Congrats, but that’s not what I meant.” 

She flashed a sarcastic grin. “I know.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, but put a gentle hand on her arm to stop her for a moment. “Not so nervous anymore?” 

She debated about pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about, but truth be told, he was right. She wasn’t nervous or scared, not with Clint. He was good, kind, genuinely cared about her. And besides, even if he wasn’t completely incapable of keeping a secret, Darcy and Kate would spill the tea to her in a heartbeat anyway. 

So she looked Steve in the eye, featherlight smile on her lips. “No. Not so nervous.” 

“Good.” He returned her grin and let her leave to fetch a batch of fresh-baked  _ sdobnoye drozhzhevoye testo _ from Bucky in the back. 


End file.
